Pick Up The Phone
by LilyAmelia
Summary: FutureFic. One-shot. T to be on the safe side.  One phone call. Three points of view.


A/N: Okay, so this did not turn out exactly like I expected it to, but anyways, hope it isn't too terrible. Reviews are dearly welcomed! First Glee fic, by the way.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or anything related to the series. I also do not own the song that inspired this fic, Le Telephone Pleure, by Claude François.

Pick Up The Phone

«Hello?»

As soon as she caught the «Oh, is this Audrey?» through the phone's speaker, the little brunette knew who was on the other end of the line. She had heard his soothing voice only a few times, but she was sure it was _him_ (as hard as she tried, she could not remember his name); it was the man Mommy often refused to speak to.

Mommy let _her_, though. _She_ was allowed to talk to the man as long as she wanted to.

«Hello, mister. Yes, this is she». Manners, just like Mommy said.

«Listen, sweetheart, is Mom home? Tell her someone needs to speak with her. Say it's important.» He always called her sweetheart.

Audrey placed the phone gently on the table, grabbed her pink, sparkly, plastic microphone (her favourite toy; a Christmas present from Uncle Kurt) and skipped up the stairs towards her mother's bedroom. She slipped quietly into the room. Mommy was on the bed, reading. When she heard her daughter's footsteps, she looked up.

«Honey, if it's him,» she bit her lip, «tell him I'm busy.» Before Audrey could open her mouth, her mom shook her head. «I'm going to take a shower.»

Audrey knew better than to argue with her. She hurried down the stairs and picked up the phone once again. «I'm sorry, mister. Mommy's in the shower.» She heard a long, shaky breath on the other side.

Chewing her lip, she sat cross-legged on the floor and fiddled with her mic. «Do you know Mommy well? Were you her friend?» She played with the phone cord. «She never talks about you, you know».

Blaine fiddled nervously with the zipper of his luggage as he waited for someone to pick up the phone. A quick glance at his bedside clock told him he had to leave in about twenty minutes; _to live your dream_, he reminded himself. He was about to go international, playing Tony in a worldwide tour of West Side Story. And here he was, praying to have a reason to stay right there, in New York.

«Hello?»

His chest constricted, just like every other damn time he heard that sweet, five-year-old voice (her birthday was on february fourteenth; the irony was not lost on him), which was a grand total of five times. He smiled bitterly. _You've screwed up so royally, Anderson, bravo!_

As the little girl (he'd been told her namesake was Audrey Hepburn; nothing could have been more perfect, based on the photographs he had received from Kurt) hurried off in search of her mother, he shuffled on the bed and leaned his head against the wall.

He was a coward. Always had been. His whole life had been a race, one sprint after another, leaving behind whatever seemed just a little too complicated to deal with at the time. Now, he was chest-high in regret, and letting it all catch up with him.

«I'm sorry, mister. Mommy's in the shower.» Audrey was back.

Blaine closed his eyes, and let out a quiet, humourless laugh. He _needed_ to speak with her.

«She never talks about you, you know». Those seven words, though unsurprising, were like a slap in the face. _She's right not to, Audrey. I'm not worth it._

He sat up straighter and brought his knees to his chest. «We were really...good friends, a long time ago. We just... haven't talked in a while.» He glanced at the clock again. He still had time. «Tell me, Audrey, how's school?»

He heard the sudden excitement in her voice, the kind of eagerness one only found in children. He wished he was right there, next to her. «It was father's day last week, so we had to make cards.» _Oh, God._ «I don't have a dad, so I made two, one for each of my grandpas.»

Quelling his urge to hit something, he put on his brightest voice. «That's wonderful, sweetheart. I'm sure they loved it.» _How could they not? You made them, with your tiny, delicate hands and your brillant, heart-breaking smile._ «By the way, how's your Uncle Kurt?»

His eyes flickered to the picture on his bedside table. Audrey was grinning toothily at the camera, her party hat askew, as her mother reached out to straighten it. They both looked beautiful. Audrey's fifth birthday party, Kurt had told him, as he handed over the envelope containing the photographs. He might as well have shouted 'Here's what you're missing, you idiot'.

When it happened, their relationship had been over for awhile, but it still took some time for his ex-boyfriend to start speaking to him again. Kurt didn't understand, _couldn't_ understand what Blaine had been going through. '_Why do you keep doing this, Blaine? You're gay, damn it!' _Kurt had screamed, when he found out.

«How do you know Uncle Kurt? Was he a friend too?»

He had strutted confidently around Dalton like some Gay Pride Ambassador (_how brave, in a school with a zero-tolerance policy regarding bullies_), and yet, as soon as doubts started creeping in, as soon as he had to question himself, he freaked out.

He had spent years convincing his father to accept him for who he was; he stuck to his beliefs and he was _proud_ of that, until that week during his junior year in high school, seven years ago. Since then, his world had been picked up and tossed around, but he had refused to adapt. He had dug in his heels and lied, straight to her face, as Kurt sat a few feet away in that coffee shop, smiling in relief. Despite all the bravado, he was still that scared little boy, too afraid and too insecure to admit he might have changed.

A the time, Kurt had been the safe option, the logical one.

«He was. We went to the same school for a year, your mom, him and I. Senior year in high school. We were all very close. Tell me, Audrey. Has your mom taken you to any Broadway musicals lately? You must have seen Wicked at least twice.»

Even now, he did not know what or who he was; but with her, he realised he had not needed to know. Around her, he was simply Blaine- part movie mate, part duet partner, and full-time shoulder to lean on.

He had ignored the pulling in his chest as she carried on calling him 'Blaine Warbler' after he had transferred to McKinley, looping her arm through his and declaring herself his guide, despite Kurt's protests. The title, along with the vivacious spark in her eyes, made his stomach react in ways he had tried to overlook.

«Wicked! It's the best show in the world! Oh, Mommy's taking me to Hairspray next month. It's going to be awesome.» He couldn't hold back a chuckle at the young girl's enthusiasm. She sounded so much like her mother. His smile faded.

_Do it, Blaine. _He bit his were things he should have said years ago. _Six _years ago, to be exact. Right then, however, he would be saying them to the wrong person. Did it matter, really? _Do it, or you'll regret it_.

«Audrey.» He breathed deeply. «Listen carefully. It's very important...»

He was sick of regrets.

Rachel listened to her daughter's soft footsteps patter down the stairs, before reaching out for the cordless phone on her bedside table. She carefully brought it to her ear, covering the mouthpiece, and listened to the conversation that was unfolding.

«She never talks about you, you know». It was true. She did not. How could she tell her daughter about the reason why she worked in a nine-to-five job as the assistant of an event organizer, instead of _being _the event.

She was supposed to be a star, to have her name light up the streets of New York, her face flashing across Times Square. Her voice was supposed to resonate in theatre halls as she enchanted the Broadway crowds. In reality, she lived in a small, cheap row-house in central Brooklyn, rented with her fathers' financial help. Her fathers, intially stunned by the news, had quickly rallied to support their only daughter.

She had not _planned_ this; providing for a child at the age of nineteen had not been part of her to-do list.

«I don't have a dad, so I made two, one for each of my grandpas.» Rachel closed her eyes and rubbed her temple. She had seen the way Audrey, crossing the school courtyard, often glanced at her classmates' fathers, as they waited impatiently behind the high, iron bars for their children. The barely concealed longing on her face was enough to stir up the guilt Rachel strove to bury. _I'm doing the right thing. I am,_ she told herself. It was for the best.

'_Mommy, where's my dad? Do I have a dad?' Rachel studied her daughter, gauging her reaction. 'Of course you do, honey. He's just...really busy. He doesn't have the time to visit you right now, but he will...someday. Maybe he will.' The young girl fiddled with her mother's hair. 'Does he want to meet me? Do you think he will love me, though, Mommy?' Rachel kissed her forehead. 'Oh...How could he not, honey?' She lifted Audrey's chin. «And if he doesn't, it would be the biggest mistake of his life.'_

The mention of Kurt brought her attention back to the conversation she was eavesdropping. «... went to the same school for a year, your mom, him and I. Senior year in high school. We were all very close.» Inseparable, people had said. Indeed, Rachel and Kurt's ego clashes notwithstanding, the three of them had gotten on like a house on fire, even after the two boys had broken up in the course of the year. It had not taken long, in fact, for Rachel to proclaim Blaine as her new best friend. Rachel knew she was hard to put up with, and could be, at times, slightly overbearing, but Blaine, all charm and cool-headedness, had been the perfect foil to her dictatorial tendancies. Finn, she had come to realize, never could cope with them. Blaine had liked her because of her faults, not in spite of them.

It had taken her three months to fall in love with him. And in one drunken night, after celebrating victory at Nationals, he had taken everything from her - her dreams, her New York college experience and the one thing she swore would be hers to give. _You should have known better than to mix Blaine and alcohol. You knew the consequences_.

When she had shown him the tiny pink plus sign - symbol of a new chapter she had not been ready to start, his terrified, stricken face had told her all she had needed to know.

Kurt had been there to pick up the pieces. _You were such a fool, Berry,_ she thought bitterly, _to think he could have felt the same way._

The change of tone in Blaine's voice - as much as she hated to admit it, it still gave her goosebumps - caught her attention. «Listen carefully. It's very important...I have to get to the airport in a minute, so I really don't have much time. Your mom needs to know whatI'm about to tell you now, okay? Promise me you'll repeat everything perfectly.»

Just like any child entrusted with an important task, Audrey promised solemnly. «I've made so many mistakes. I had chance after chance with your mother, but I wasted them all, and...Tell her I'm sorry, and I miss her. Tell her that I love you both very much - »

Rachel barely heard her daughter's surprised cry of «Love you both? But I've never even met you, mister!» _Six years_._ He had to wait six years before saying those words? _Anger bubbled deep in her chest. He had _no_ right to push himself into their lives in this manner.

«I'd like nothing more than to change that, Audrey. Your mom just has to say the word. I - » Rachel felt a tear pricking in the corner of her eye. _It's nothing, _she told herself. _You're just...furious. «_Tell her I'm begging her to take a chance on me.»

Moments later, Audrey crept into the room and climbed on the bed, leaning into her. Her daughter's jet black curls - identical to her father's - tickled her chin. «He asked me to tell you a lot of things, Mommy. He said he missed you, and that he wasted chances. He also said he loved the both of us, but I don't understand. I don't even know - Mommy? Are you crying?»

Rachel wiped her cheek and let out a short laugh. «No, honey, of course not. I'm fine. What else did he say?»

«You were not in the shower, were you?» Audrey's light brown eyes questioned her, challenged her to be the best Rachel Berry she could be.

Her anger morphed into something else entirely, and for the first time in years, she allowed herself to hope. _Take that chance, Rachel. You've been waiting six years for it._

«Honey, would you like to take a trip to the airport? If we're there in time-» and she dearly hoped they would be, «there's someone I'd like you to meet.»


End file.
